Star Wars Episode 355: A Dance of Light and Shadow
by Michael Raziel
Summary: Part 5 of Jedi Purge era serial. Feedback welcomed!


Star Wars Episode 3.5.5: A Dance of Light and Shadow

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . .

Fire and steel rained from the night sky, and Jedi Master Lucius Kai knew that his time had come. He suppressed a sigh as he came in from the balcony, marshalling a lifetime of hard learned discipline against the despair he felt in his heart. Yaddle had struck the first blow, thickening the air in front of the _Acclimators_ targeting displays to make their operators see the red dots of enemies rather than the blue that denoted their own ships. Such fine telekinetic control was her hallmark among the Jedi, and the ploy had worked -- once.

Now the Admiral was pulling the larger ships back, outside the combat zone, and the remnants of the assault force came on. Now, as all battles did, it would come down to butchers work.

Lucius was well aware of how close his particular gift came to the wild abandon of the Dark Side. He'd determined early in his career that it would be better -- _safer -- _to devote himself to instructing others, rather than risk inflicting his skills on the galaxy at large. The Council had agreed, and hed been shuttled from Temple to Temple, teaching those skills that he dared not employ.

Lucius Kai was a Blademaster. Not for him the subtle flows of the Unifying Force, or the fluid whispers of telepathy -- this son of Corellia could only feel truly opened to the Force when his lightsaber came alive in his hand. For Lucius, the humming of his blade was a compulsion. When it sang, he must dance, and only while lost to the dance did he feel the Force flowing through him.

For nearly thirty years he'd avoided bloodshed by being a teacher, helping his students to understand that their lightsaber was more than a simple weapon -- it was a focus, a symbol of what their hearts and minds and souls must become if they were to enforce peace and justice in the galaxy. Tonight, as the darkness covered the Force, there could be no evasion. Evil had come, encased in durasteel and white plastic, and he would face it. And then, they would dance.

He waited in the center of the foyer, his face hidden beneath the cowl of his robe. The Temples main entrance was a heavy cargo door in the north wall 15 meters across and 20 high, its top edge level with the bottom of the balcony opposite. The corridor to the landing pad in the East wall was sealed -- the Falleen Master Gurliss had been tasked to see the younglings and their cargo safely away, and would defend the pad itself. Another Jedi might have knelt, seeking the calm acceptance of meditation; Lucius stood, and waited. They did not make him wait long.

The whine of servomotors announced their approach; a full platoon of clones supported by six AT-RT walkers. They stopped just outside the cargo door and considered the lone figure facing them, the walkers hissing as they settled back on their supports.

"You are trespassing on sacred ground." His voice rang in the empty chamber, echoing through the dark. "Leave now, or be destroyed."

One of the clones, wearing the markings of an officer and missing his helmet, stepped forward. "By order of the Supreme Chancellor, the members of the Jedi Order have been found guilty of treason. The sentence is death."

Lucius ignited his blade and held it in the ready position, near his left shoulder. Its blue light reflected off the clones armor and threw new shadows on the floor. "Dance with me, then."

The officer was unimpressed. "Fire."

It came at him like a storm, a wave of blue energy from the clones rifles, punctuated by the heavier red bolts from the walkers chin mounted cannon. Lucius deflected the first bolt into the officers unprotected face, misting the man behind him with superheated tissue, and leapt at the top of the door as the rest blew a hole in the stone where hed stood. He kicked off the wall above the door, shutting down his blade as he flipped through the darkness toward the balcony.

He watched them advance as they had been trained: tight knots of four, each covering another fire arc, the walkers coming in pairs behind. Against droids, it was a good tactic.

Against him, it was a mistake.

He launched himself off the railing, flipped at the apex of his leap, and landed on the first trooper, killing two more as his blade snapped to life. He grabbed a headless body with his will before it could drop and flung it at the group to his left, taking them down in a jumble of flailing limbs. An AT-RT brought its weapon to bear and he raised his weapon to block -- _through_ the closest trooper -- and deflected its fire into the group before they could regain their feet, killing some and sending the rest sprawling. Two quick strides brought him within range and he took its left leg off with a swipe, sweeping it into its companion with a gesture. Their ordinance lit off as they hit the floor, engulfing them in an orange fireball.

The second half of the platoon began shooting at him; he saw three of them drop with smoking holes in their armor as he swatted the shots back. Lost in the flow of the Force, his hands moved of their own accord, inhumanly fast. His blade flashed and hummed, creating an impenetrable barrier; sending their shots into their companions, the walls, anywhere except where they were aimed. He saw one of them go to his knees, raising a weapon to his shoulder. He felt a tingle in the back of his mind, a warning --

Too late. The PLEX launcher spit fire even as his gaze fell on it, and before his conscious self could intervene his lightsaber was rising to block it.

The armor piercing warhead detonated when it met his blade, vaporizing him from the waist up.

To be continued . . .


End file.
